Ray Ashley’s The Little Fugitive (1953) is a independent film that documents the adventures of a young man after he decides to run away from home, to the farthest place he knows—Coney Island. It’s a fictional story, but it’s naturalistic, documentary-style approach was unusual for its time. It clearly drew from the Italian Neo-Realist movement in its pacing, scope, and aesthetics, and likewise would prove influential on the French New Wave that would come a few years later. Ray Ashley’s unique, realistic approach to a simple story leads the audience to identify much more intimately with a character and in the process, to access forgotten truths from their own childhoods
Lennie and Joey Norton are brothers living in the suburbs, forced to spend the weekend without their mother around. To get rid of him, Lennie and his friends trick Joey into thinking that he has killed his older brother and the police will soon be after him. With six dollars, Joey hops a train and flees to Coney Island. There Joey plans to live out the rest of his days riding horses and drinking soda. Meanwhile Lennie soon realizes his mistake and tries to locate Joey.
The first impression the film makes is its marked realism. It was shot handheld on a 35 mm camera, creating an almost home-movie feel. Richie Andrusco and Richard Brewster, who play Joey and Lennie respectively, were first-time actors. Their performances are so convincing it seems likely that Ashley often just left the camera roll and let the boys be themselves. Moments play out quietly and cuts are few. Even with the occasional plot conveniences, the film feels honest. There’s a genuine quality that, without feeling overly saccharine, creates a sense of nostalgia whether the viewer experienced the 50’s firsthand or not.
Like the best films that attempt to give realistic portrayals of childhood, it doesn’t diminish or belittle the problems that the boys experience. It’s relatively lighthearted; there are no life-altering tragedies on display, but it’s successful in showing the wonder as well as anxiety of a child trying to get by in an adult world. What’s impressive is that both wonder and anxiety seem to be on equal display—as they probably would be in a kid’s mind. Part of Joey knows he has to provide for himself somehow, to earn money so that he can eat, and part of him just wants to ride the carousel and spend money on horsey rides. It’s a truth that resonates with the viewer and effortlessly recalls memories of childhood, leading to greater identification with the characters.
The Little Fugitive doesn’t shy away from taking its time. It doesn’t hurtle toward plot points. For the most part it is content to simply observe moments in their beauty and honest simplicity. It allows for easy identification, whether for adult audiences in the 50’s, separated from Joey by age, or for a young viewer today separated by generations. To understand these characters and their world, one doesn’t need to have been a six-year-old in 1953; any more, say, than one needs to have been a teenager in 1976 to understand Dazed and Confused, or a young Iranian girl to understand The White Balloon. The Little Fugitive, and the uncommon films like it, serve as a gateway of sorts, not only to another time and place, but within the viewers, encouraging them to recall and reconnect with a more childlike self.
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